


California Kingsize

by TheFierceBeast



Series: Just keep talking [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Fingering, Blow Jobs, Bottom Crowley, Branding, Castiel Talks Dirty, Castiel is Not Innocent, Consensual Non-Consent, Crowley talks dirty, Devil's Trap, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, Fingerfucking, Hand & Finger Kink, Hand Jobs, I like dirty talk, Jealous Castiel, M/M, Marking, Mirror Sex, Nearly Human Crowley, POV Castiel, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Roleplay, Season/Series 06, Top Castiel, Voice Kink, crowstiel, devil's trap sex needs to be a tag, established Castiel/Crowley, look at their fucking love connection, mirrored ceiling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-13
Updated: 2016-06-13
Packaged: 2018-07-14 19:45:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7187567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFierceBeast/pseuds/TheFierceBeast
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“A mirror on the ceiling, a devil’s trap under the bed. Does that wet your whistle, ducky? Would you like me like that? Shackled by magic to a California Kingsize? Trapped, powerless, at your mercy?”</p><p>Sequel to ‘Speed dial 666’ where Crowley makes good on his promises. Set in some idealised fictional time around S6 when everyone is still (more than) friends. Yeah, this is just 5K of straight up PWP. No regrets.</p>
            </blockquote>





	California Kingsize

"Never _really_ innocent, were you, feathers?"

Cas shoots him a somewhat supercilious side-eye. "Crowley, I am several millennia old. I have seen everything you have and more. You are the juvenile in this relationship."

Crowley's mouth quirks up at 'relationship'. He smirks, approvingly. "I guess that makes me your toy boy."

"No."

"You don't know what that phrase means, do you?"

Castiel narrows his eyes but says, grudgingly, "No. But I know that you are not my... one of those."

"Pity. Could quite fancy having a sugar daddy." He’s clearly holding in a laugh at the way the angel's eyes widen in horror at his fluttering lashes. Except ‘horror’ might not quite be the word.

"Stop that."

"You're no fun, you know that?"

"Never do that again."

Crowley chuckles. “And yet, kitten, here we still are…” A turn of an ornate brass handle opens the door onto a small yet ostentatiously-appointed room. Much smaller, indeed, than most of the hotel suites Crowley has whisked them to over the past months, and mostly taken up by a really, really large bed. Larger than a California King. The type of bed that could quite easily accommodate at least four people: Castiel flashes Crowley a sideways glare that is absolutely definitely not born of mistrustful jealousy, but it goes unnoticed as Crowley paces eagerly across the hardwood floor. With a gesture, a corner of the quilted silk throw rises into the air like an Indian rope trick and Castiel spots, just the edge visible beneath the huge bed, the red painted lines of a devil’s trap. It's not a trick: focusing his sight through bed and mattress he can make it out, scribed perfect and unbroken on the polished boards. Crowley smirks, pleased, and stuffs his hands into the pockets of his slacks. He raises his eyes. Following his gaze, Castiel notices, set between the drapes that cascade from the four bedposts, a mirror stretching the width and length of the bed.

"You are incorrigible." Crowley's smirk twitches into a smile and he gives a little bow. “You can’t really mean to walk into that trap.”

“Watch me, sunshine.” Crowley takes another step towards the bed, the heels of his immaculately shined shoes clicking on the boards. Castiel’s frown deepens. This is enticing, but it’s also dangerous and he feels, illogically, that he is the one to which it poses the most danger. Crowley is merely proposing to give up control, to trust… Castiel is the one upon whom the burden of that trust is to be placed when he’s not certain he even fully trusts _himself_.

“This is ridiculous.” His voice grates; he licks his lips. _Oh, but the thought of it_. Crowley raises an elegant eyebrow, silently daring him. He turns, back to the bed, and takes another pace backwards and another until the backs of his knees hit the edge of the bed. He stretches out a hand, for support maybe, holding onto the drapes.

That silky growl is half taunt, half promise. “No turning back now, sweetheart.”

“Crowley-”

The look that flits across his face as he sits on the bed is… hard to describe. Castiel reads in his eyes a flare of protest, resignation, panic, bliss. Stupid, self-sabotaging demon, drunk on his own masochism. Crowley draws in a sharp breath. Castiel lets out a long sigh, that predictable ache that usually accompanies visits to Crowley already starting up between his thighs.

“Well. This is naughty.” Drawing his knees up gracefully onto the bed, Crowley shuffles backwards a little until he’s kneeling in the centre. “Don’t leave a girl hanging now, lover.”

“What do you expect me to do?” Castiel sounds angrier than he means to and he frowns in frustration, fingers tightening into fists. Crowley huffs a little laugh.

“Whatever you want to, love. Free will and all that.”

“Don’t…” _Don’t bring that up here._ “This is foolish. Putting yourself in this position.”

“Why, are you going to punish me?” Castiel closes his eyes at that honeyed drawl, his cock twinging.

“It could be dangerous.”

“I trust you.”

“You shouldn’t.”

“I know.” Even with his power curbed, his eyes flash, deadly. “That’s what makes this so divine.”

That does it. Castiel levels the full force of his gaze at him. "Undress."  
  
"No." Crowley raises his head. Juts out his chin obstinately as he crosses his arms. Castiel is flummoxed.  
  
"Have you... changed your mind?"  
  
Crowley rolls his eyes, a smile playing around his mouth. "I voluntarily walk into a trap with you and that's what you ask me? Take it as read, blossom, me on this bed is tacit agreement to anything you want to do to me. And I mean _anything_."  
  
"So... Remove your clothes."  
  
That stubborn head tilt again. " _Make me_."  
  
"I don't understand."  
  
"I want you to _take_ what you want." Castiel frowns. It's difficult enough to understand the intricacies of human desires, but demons are a whole new layer of complexity on top of that. "What's wrong, angel? Don't you like a little fight in your conquests? I know I do."  
  
"I like consent."  
  
"I'm giving you my consent. Don't kill me, don't involve anyone else you intend to let live afterwards. Apart from that... No holds barred. No safe words. I'm yours to do with as you will. Even if I struggle." His rich voice slinks lower: " _Especially_ if I struggle." Castiel narrows his eyes. Crowley, dapper and elegantly suited as ever, kneeling on the deep plush throw, holds his gaze, level and challenging. A wave of Castiel’s hand and Crowley is naked: his lips part at that, a thrilled little gasp, and his hands move to cover himself with a blushing demureness that Castiel knows the king does not really possess, so why does it send heat prickling up the back of his neck? "Now he gets it." Crowley murmurs, voice like tearing silk. As Castiel sets one knee on the bed, he inches back, tongue darting out to moisten his lips. Castiel's pulse jumps. "What will you do with me?" It's his voice, core-deep and velvety, but it's not: too tentative, betraying more nervousness than Crowley could surely ever feel. It has to be acting. Pretense, to satisfy some strange demonic sex-impulse - so why is Castiel's heart quickening? _Powerless, at your mercy_. That part is no play-act. The trap is real. A shiver of excitement flutters up Castiel's spine. This is real. He has him, and Crowley likes it.

"What will I do with you?" The bed is huge, but he has him cornered, big hands still clasped, shielding his modesty, broad chest heaving. Even as a near-human, Crowley is solidly built. Hefty. Powerful shoulders. Able to take care of himself. _No match at all for an angel_. Castiel licks his lips, voice dropping. "What will I do with you?” He repeats. “Whatever I want."

Crowley’s strong wrists feel fragile in an angelic grip: Castiel pulls his hands away, roughly, exposing him: his dick, thickening, twitching fat between his thighs. And Crowley gives a lovely little moan, his head tipping back, lips parting and Castiel could swear he sees a blush colouring his cheeks: that has Castiel hard in moments. Wrenching his arms back, Crowley struggles pointlessly in his grasp. Castiel leans down to take his mouth and by the time he pulls away again, still holding Crowley's wrists pinned forcefully behind his back, his demon is panting and fully hard. His jerking cock drools steadily onto the curve of his belly, darkening the soft hair there. Castiel traces the nap of hair across his chest with fascinated fingertips, the swirl and direction of it. The hissed breath when his fingers skim a nipple that tightens at his touch, hardening to a little pink peak. “Be gentle.” Crowley has no right to sound like that.

Castiel says, “No. You'll take what I give you.” All part of the game, surely. His voice sounds ruined. Crowley’s sounds worse.

“Oh, God.”

That jars, even when the demon’s eyes are mostly shut, his hips angling wantonly forward. “Show some respect.”

“Respect?” Crowley opens his eyes properly. Golden, beautiful: Castiel is surely damned. “I have a _lot_ of respect for your dear old dad. Caused more pain than I ever managed to. I mean, I'm small fry.” Crowley winces at the tightening of the grip on his arms, but he doesn’t stop talking. “The difference with demons is we don't demand obedience, we just hand you enough rope and leave you to make your own choices. And the thing is, angel - you want to fall.”

“Is that what this is?”

“What do you think, moron?” Castiel doesn’t think, not now. Unfamiliar emotions war inside him: _all_ of them.

“I think that I could still kill you. Right now.”

“Yes, you could. I can’t do a single damn thing to stop you. You could burn those pretty blue eyes white hot and touch my face one last time and leave me a naked smoking heap for one of my drones to find. They’d rejoice, you know; my ultimate humiliation. They’d laugh themselves sick.” His arm comes up, and Castiel lets him, lets Crowley take his hand and place it against his own forehead, eyes wide. “Go ahead, angel. If that’s what you want. I’ve had a good innings.”

Of its own accord, Castiel’s thumb smooths a lock of soft dark hair to one side, stroking across the lines on Crowley’s forehead. “You don’t mean that. Survival is all you care about.”

“Not strictly true.” His gaze is too sincere.

“I don’t want to kill you.” And right now, Castiel realises, he really, _really_ doesn’t. He pulls his hand abruptly from Crowley’s forehead, holds it awkwardly at his side. Crowley bites his bottom lip, worrying it between straight white teeth.

“What do you want to do to me? Tell me. _Be specific_.”

A flood of desires, emotions, half-formed pornographic images, tumbles across Castiel’s imagination: he can’t find the words for a fraction of it. "Why do you take such delight in profanity from my lips?"

"Work it out, Einstein.”

"What do you wish to hear? That I was a virgin, untouched before you took me?"

"Took you?” He’s trying to sound indignant, but Castiel can’t mistake the greedy flare of delight in his eyes. “You make it sound like burglary."

"You like to think you stole my innocence."

"I like to think you positively showered me with it eagerly."

 _I did. Heaven help me, I did._ Castiel, somewhat irrationally he knows, still hates it when he’s right. "And now look. I have you. Powerless. Beneath me. Little more than a whore."

He punctuates the last word by jerking Crowley sharply against him. The demon’s voice remains maddeningly level, hitting his familiar stride of verbal sparring, and even _with_ Crowley powerless, Castiel feels horribly under-armed for this battle. "’Whore’ would suggest I'm getting paid."

"The pleasure I inflict upon your vessel is your payment"

"Oh, darling. You don't know how right you are.” His voice rasps, velvet-rough. “I love fucking you. I fucking love you."

He sounds sincere, far too sincere; Castiel jolts. A little voice inside him whispers, answering… he can’t listen. “Your capacity for creative profanity is limitless.”

“Cas, you flirt. Don't deny it. You love my filthy mouth.” _You love me._ It’s louder than if he spoke out loud.  


"Demons aren't capable of love."

Crowley’s eyes say he doesn’t believe that for an instant. Castiel suspects his own do, too. "Neither are angels. Aren't we a pair?"

"You're wrong, Crowley."

That haughty raise of his chin again, even as he’s kneeling naked at an angel’s mercy. "Am I? You're a foot soldier. A killer. You have no traffic in love; I'm a thousand times the expert you are, little executioner."

"No."

"Prove it."

The kiss Castiel drags him into this time is brutal, bruising, and the blissful broken groan it drags from Crowley’s throat is paradise: Castiel swallows it up, feeling that mortal vessel sag in surrender against him. It’s intoxicating; every bit as exhilarating as giving up control himself. Pulling away from the kiss, Crowley whimpers satisfyingly at the loss, until he’s quickly panting again as Castiel turns him, presses his own still-clothed chest to the demon’s back, mouth fastened to his neck, Crowley’s hands clutching fistfuls of his coat. Castiel runs a palm up one thigh, feels the jump of muscle, the hot hitch of breath shudder through Crowley's frame at his touch. The hair here is softer, lighter, shorter, before it coarsens to a tangle of dark curls between his thighs. Castiel's hands look tanned, elegant against all that pristine pale skin. Powerful. His mouth waters; he swallows, thick. The thrill of that knowledge: _I could break him._ Fingertips dig in, a glorious handful of flesh: Crowley arches and purrs and Castiel's vision flickers, sees glimpses of the caged demon inside, writhing, red ruin of smoke and fire. It's exquisite. His fingers tighten. Leave pinked marks in their wake that he could pinch to bruises with ease. Knowing Crowley wouldn't care. That he'd love it, Castiel's touch written upon his skin, etched into the very meat of him. On a whim, he raises a hand, lowers it sharply in a slap that rips the air with sudden noise, ripples that plump curve of arse alluringly. The demon hisses an appreciative breath, dipping the small of his back, rump pushing out, wordlessly asking for more.  
Castiel tilts his head. He hasn't planned to go down that route. Doesn't want to. Doesn't have to. His grip is not gentle around Crowley's wrists, manhandling him with ease onto his back. No complaints. A tilt of his hips this time, jutting the thick shuddering shaft of his cock out. Wordlessly _begging_. Castiel’s guts wind into knots. He sits back on his heels, watches as the demon lying beneath him spreads his legs like an invitation. _Just for him_. A delicious thrill runs the length of Castiel's spine, tailbone to scalp. Intimately exposed, he's tight and pink as a bud coming into bloom; too sweet-looking for this atrocity of blood and pain. A creature of such contrasts - he shivers to Castiel's curious touch - his sharp-edged smile and mournful eyes, his thick-muscled shoulders and soft belly. His demonic sadism and... _and_ … Crouching before him, Castiel runs his tongue the length of one creamy inner thigh. This vessel's skin is delicate in these secret places; the backs of his knees, the tender fold where hip meets thigh: Castiel’s tongue chases his thumping pulse up the crease of his groin. Crowley squirms breathlessly, thick cock jerking. "Always liked this vessel didn't you, angel? I appreciate a boy with taste." He's right. His warmth, weight, substance... In one smooth motion Castiel hooks his elbows beneath Crowley's knees and tips him back, buries his face between his thighs. Crowley makes a strangled enraptured noise. Angles his hips to get Castiel's tongue deeper. How can Castiel not oblige? His vessel is gifted in the oral department and they both enjoy this; Castiel revels in the smoky taste of him, that prim tight knot softening and twitching under his attentions, opening wide for him. Glancing up the length of the king's body, he sees a glimpse, Crowley's mouth hanging sweetly open, panting, slack with lust. His eyes full of some kind of dangerous worship - _he can't say the word. Not here, not them_. It's effortless to hold him still, hips pinned against the silk throw and Crowley moans at the onslaught, trying, desperate, to writhe. Castiel won't let him. Crawls between his legs, holding him down, heavy. Crowley groans and ruts against the cotton of Castiel’s slacks, their cocks pressed together through layers of fabric. It’s frustrating, but if it’s getting Crowley so worked up then Castiel can do this all evening. Crowley maintains the edge of mockery in his voice with evident difficulty. "You quite comfy there, champ? Don't want to lose the coat? Not that I'm complaining - kinky, I like it – it’s just..." His eyes finish the sentence for him, bright and pleading beneath long lowered lashes. He wants to touch. Castiel shivers, the flesh-memory delicious, yet - he shouldn't give him what he wants. And this is its own kind of wonderful, his demon bare and defenceless beneath him. He leans in, teasing, pulling back as Crowley angles for his kiss. _Power. Yes._ He wonders how they must look, and then in the same instant remembers. Follows Crowley’s mesmerised gaze, turning his head to look too. Crowley is watching them both in the mirror over Castiel’s shoulder. "Look, angel. Look how glorious we are." It’s a jolt to see it, _witness it,_ from the outside. Framed in the mirror in the canopy of the bed, they are a thousand times more beautiful than any pornography Castiel has ever seen. His own vessel looks… large. Covering Crowley entirely. Intoxicatingly masterful, even though all he feels is a mounting _loss_ of control. The demon’s eyes are bright as embers, reflected in the glass, burning. Castiel rolls to the side, revealing the view of his companion that his own coat-clad back had been obscuring: his own reflection in the mirror flinches as if in pain, teeth catching his bottom lip at the sight of them both together. Legs still entwined. His hands knuckle-white around Crowley’s wrists. Crowley’s cock, twitching, obscene. Both of their gazes pinned. Chests heaving. Clothed and unclothed. It’s filthy and bewitching and it’s making Castiel’s insides feel like they’re glowing but suddenly he’s desperate to see them both naked, to _see_ what that’s like- "Now _there's_ a view I can appreciate, darling." Crowley twists in his grasp, hips lifting from the covers that feel soft as peach-skin against Castiel’s suddenly-bared vessel. His voice: husky, whispering; Castiel feels it almost like a texture, as intimate as a brush of hair. Everything is decadent sensation. In the mirror, Crowley rolls onto his side, dick pressing against Castiel’s hip. Castiel watches their reflection like he’s hypnotised. The sensation of hard-soft-wet-slide against his skin accompanied by the new visual of it, uncompromising. His own vessel’s shaft, rosy-rigid and bobbing against his belly. _Is this what we are?_ Castiel meets his reflection’s gaze with narrowed-eyed curiosity. Crowley’s reflection isn’t looking anymore. His eyes are half-lidded, looking only at Castiel, nosing gently at his jaw, mouth open and brushing gentle almost-kisses against the side of his throat. _We are lovely_. When he turns his head, Crowley’s eyes are appealing, slipping blissfully shut when Castiel fits their mouths together, tongue searching. There’s something else alongside the burst of lust that spreads through him, a keen barb of some strange affection that skewers him right through. He rolls them over. Into the position they were in when he was clothed, Crowley on his back again, legs spread and arms pinned, only this time… Wet slide, teasing, hungry clutch catching at the head of him, his demon gasping delirious, “Please, please give it to me, stick it in, give me something, I want you…”

“No.” His own voice is a rough growl. Crowley bucks beneath him, pressing himself against the slow glide of Castiel’s cock, and his thwarted groan sounds far too ecstatic to be truly pained.

“You want me to beg angel?” It’s Castiel’s turn to groan now, hands tightening to what must be the point of pain around Crowley’s wrists. “Beg for your cock? I will, Cas, oh, I will angel, please, sweet sin - take me, fuck me, tailor me to fit you, just you, I want to feel every inch…”

Castiel silences him with a kiss. That whiskey-sweet mouth opens so obediently to Castiel's tongue, red and wet, chasing his lips as he pulls away. “No.” Crowley whines, hips lifting, a petulant spoilt sound that should not be so arousing. Castiel tilts his head. Licks his lips. “Perhaps I'll insert the handle of my blade-”

“ _Yes_.” It’s out before Castiel can even finish his impulsive sentence, Crowley’s eyes round and wide. “Do that _immediately_.”

He could laugh. The raw desire in that eager amber gaze. But amusement isn't what twists within him like a serpent, dangerous and lovely and world-shattering. “You are beautiful.”

Crowley stills for a split second, his eyes going wider for just a heartbeat before they narrow beneath a frown. “You've already got me into bed; I think you have your seduction backwards, sweetheart.”

“No. I don't.” Crowley is the first to look away and something not-quite-like-triumph twists in Castiel’s belly.

“Stop with the small-talk and stick something in me.”

“Crowley. You're supposed to be feigning reluctance. You are breaking your own rules.”

“There are no rules, darling. Gloves off. Unless… _oh_.” His eyes are back on Castiel, his chin lifting, confident once more. “You _dirty little thing_. You _like_ it.” That voice is hot, promising and Castiel’s cock throbs, aching stiff. A little thrill of shame courses through him.

“I have no idea what you mean.”

“You like being in charge. You like me helpless. That really trips your trigger, doesn’t it, big boy?”

“Shut up, Crowley.”

“Yes, sir.” Castiel closes his eyes. It’s too much, that gravelly whisper too breathless and meek, it goes straight to his crotch and even as he hates being manipulated so easily, it’s true, he _loves_ it, Crowley pliant and docile beneath him. He grabs him by the wrists again. Loves to see him like this, laid out graceful and taut, arms stretched above his head, soft hair of his armpits damp now, his hands so much bigger than Castiel's; they should be stronger, _should be_ … The real thrill of power isn’t overpowering him, but having him want this so badly. And oh, he wants this. It’s written clear all over his face.

“Please, sir…” Castiel isn’t an expert at detecting sarcasm but even listening for it he can’t find the smallest trace in Crowley’s urgent murmur. “I’ve been bad. Spank me some more. Harder. Use your blade.” The scent of him is dizzying, his human sweat, warm and irresistible, that demonic perfume of sulphur and ashes and incense clinging now only in his hair. Castiel buries his face in the crook of Crowley’s neck, breathing him in, his hips rocking quicker now, rubbing them together.

“You're lying to yourself, Crowley. I know you. You like it gentle, you just won't let yourself.”

“Sir, you know best sir. However you want to give it to me.”

Unbearable creature. Smug even when he’s playing submissive. Castiel’s teeth graze his neck, sharp. "Suck me.”

“Oh, God.” It feels redundant to comment upon his blasphemy now. Castiel rearranges them, perfunctory and rough, Crowley on his knees before him – and that shouldn’t course so hot through him. He pushes his head down, fingers tight on the back of his neck and Crowley is purring with it, moaning shamelessly around his mouthful, sloppy and desperate and fervent and Castiel isn’t going to last long. It takes him by surprise with an intensity that has him reeling. His body, pulled taut as a wire, muscles locking as pleasure assaults him, shuddering through his vessel, taking the last vestiges of his control with it. Castiel makes a strange sound, thinks he means to say ‘yes’ and Crowley has no warning but seems unperturbed. His fingers tighten on Castiel’s hips as they start to tremble, the delicious insistent pressure of his mouth more urgent, swallowing him down until he’s past spent and Crowley’s talented mouth on his softening cock is almost too intense.

It’s easy to collapse next to him when Castiel’s legs feel turned to rubber. For a brief, sly moment he considers snapping away, leaving Crowley flustered and unattended-to just to see the look on his face, but… how can he, when that face is so open and full of rare adoration? Their lips brush again and Crowley’s part easily to Castiel’s tongue, tasting himself. Castiel’s heart squeezes. The words are out before he can stop them. "I want you to not do this with others anymore.”

Crowley pulls back and regards him. “What, are you going to chain me to this bed?” Even practically slurring his words he sounds amused. _Hopeful._ Castiel’s hand comes up to slide a fingertip along one cheekbone and Crowley’s expression creases into a puzzled frown, his voice low. “Cas… are you _jealous_?”

“I am...” This demon, Castiel's one and only, has polluted his flesh with countless others, meaningless trysts. Castiel knows this. It’s the nature of demons. His brow furrows.

Crowley says, “Possessive? I... don't hate that.” His voice is low and wondering.

“You're mine, demon.” He shouldn't covet, shouldn't crave, shouldn’t allow himself to be enticed into this… Beneath his palms, Crowley shivers.

“Then show me. Mark me. Do it.”

It’s a little like being in a trance. Still pleasure-dazed, Castiel’s fingertips trace down his neck, across his shoulders. Come to rest, just the tip of his index finger over where Crowley’s heart should be. _Your grace burns me, did you know that? When you’re begging beneath my fingertips, when you come sobbing my name, it scours my essence more than a thousand years in the pit could._ The memory of when they were last together fills Castiel’s mind clear as firelight. His fingers tingle, hot-cold with reined-in power. The power to destroy, or to elevate. The sharp stench of burning hair hits the back of his throat and Crowley's hiss is delicious from between clenched teeth as Castiel traces, two straight lines, two curves... When he speaks, he sounds almost reluctant. “That won't come off.”

“Who says I want it to?” Crowley sounds… choked. He pulls Castiel’s hand to his mouth, wraps lips around the finger that just branded him and the memories push wonderful into Castiel’s mind again. He’s tight again when Castiel slips his hand back between the demon’s thighs, but still wet from Castiel’s tongue and gasping so prettily to _don’t be gentle, angel_ that Castiel doesn’t feel even a little remorse for pushing in harder and faster than he should, to see that body bow beneath him, mouth open in a rapturous O. Crowley is watching them in the mirror again. Castiel just watches his eyes instead, smouldering with more fire than if they were burning bloody red. And Crowley's hand slips down to explore the slow pump of that finger entering him, one finger traces around his full hole before it slides in alongside so they're both fingering him in tandem, deep and unhurried. “ _More_.” Crowley pulls, not carefully. Forces the tip of another finger in. His teeth press white into the curve of his lower lip. His other hand sneaks up to prod at the sore skin on his chest: he winces and whimpers with delight, his dick dripping, surely aching now… Castiel applies his own free hand to it, gliding slick and easy and Crowley groans, yelps out a, “Yes!” grinding down against their pressed-flush fingers. There is a warning with him. A harsh quickening of breath, his shoulders tensing, the tight clutch of his arse clenching. When he comes, little hard thrusts of it, thumb pressed hard against the blistered flesh over his heart, his wordless cry is jubilant and Castiel realises that Crowley isn’t the only one gasping for air.

“Fuck _me_.” Crowley is laughing softly, breathless and stunned. His head lolls against the deep pillows. “Sweetheart. Bravo. Encore. I didn't know you had it in you.”

“I'll break the trap.”

“No.” The words are hasty but the hand on his arm is gentle. “I think I'll stay here a while.” His fingertips play with the emission puddled pearly across his chest, paddle through it and rub it into his skin. “It's not often I get chance to be _honestly_ filthy...” He gives a quiet chuckle. His teeth are very white, perfect. Sweat-matted hair stuck to his high forehead. The foreign feeling inside Castiel’s chest is squeezing the sanity from him. “You know... Human-adjacent as I currently find myself...” Crowley regards him, all gravity. “All helpless and fragile... And you with the angelic stamina. You could really break me.” He bites his lip again, eyebrows rising.

“I should leave you here.”

“Mmm. Teach me a lesson.” Crowley agrees. He pillows his cheek on one hand, looking at Castiel.

Castiel rolls his eyes. Only half-reluctantly he lies down, rested against the deep pillows, soft against his back. “Come here.” He holds out an arm and the King of Hell scoots only too eagerly to settle at his side, head against his chest, unnervingly passive. Castiel wonders if he’ll sleep; it’s what humans do, but his eyes remain open, barely, watching Castiel from beneath a lowered fringe of lashes. Castiel turns his head a little, watches him back, the warm stir of breath against his neck, inching closer. Before too long, as if magnetised, his lips find Crowley’s again.

**Author's Note:**

> So… I’m not sure what this is. It turned out soppier than I expected, I think I just needed some comfort-fluff. I’m not sure where the branding thing came from or if it even works or if it needs editing out, it just kinda happened (as things tend to when I write these two) – all constructive crit welcome.
> 
> PS more voice kink and fingering please!


End file.
